


Connection

by orphan_account



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Developing Relationship, District 2, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Post-Mockingjay, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gale's new life is a train connection away. There's only one other passenger headed to Two, and she might offer a different sort of connection on the way there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Connection

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a fic I did a while back; I'm posting it now here to flesh out submissions while I work on Omega and other stuff. Hunger Games ain't mine, obviously. Enjoy, people.

Gale Hawthorne was not a disagreeable fellow, he liked to think. He went to school, poached illegally- then again, under the Capitol’s regime, it was a choice of starvation or law-breaking.

The scars on his back stung again, jerking him from his reverie and reminding him of the present. He was grown up now. The Capitol had been overthrown, and he’d helped. He’d lost his best friend and the only girl he’d ever loved.

He inhaled deeply again of the pine woods that made up District Seven. Their train platform, installed by the Capitol, was a stark, cutting-edge contrast to their rural, wooded home. People milled about in the town below, rebuilding, going about their lives.

And Gale was waiting. If you asked him why, or for what, he may not have been able to answer. He wasn’t sure himself, really, of what he was looking for. A job? A new life? New home? Maybe. He’d be getting all those things. He just didn’t know.

He glanced to his side to see someone else standing there. She was obviously from Seven; with her nutmeg-colored hair, cropped close at the chin. A smattering of freckles dusted her face. Her arms were strong, her shoulders even stronger. She’d been swinging an axe, though for how many years remained a question.

Gale had never known anyone from Seven, save Johanna Mason. But she was gone, left behind in that past of his that he just wanted to lock away and hide under a pile of work. Better than drowning it in booze, anyway.

Alone on the platform, except for his silent companion, he found himself studying her out of the corner of his eye again. She, too, traveled light- only one leather bag slung over her shoulder and a small briefcase were her only means of luggage. Her eyes were a clear blue, a sharp color that permeated the air around her as she stared straight ahead, waiting for the train.

A few moments later, it pulled up. Gale stepped on, sighing softly. From here, it was a few hours to Two. The girl hesitated, turning back to steal one last glance at Seven. Then, she turned and walked into the car.

It was empty, save for them. Gale swung his duffel up into the overhead compartment, and looked around. The car was old, too, and unequipped with the steadying technology that made it easy to walk about when it moved.

The girl attempted to set her bag up as well, and came up a few inches short. Gale reached over and took the satchel from her, setting it up next to his luggage. Just then the train lurched forward and she stumbled, snatching onto a pole and sitting down beside him.

Neither said a word. Gale watched the scenery go by for a few brief moments, but eventually even the pine woodlands palled on him, and he closed his eyes. Gale would be perfectly content to never see a forest again. Reminded him too much- again- of the past.

The girl had opened her small briefcase and drawn out a notebook of some sort. She opened it; he realized it was a sketchpad. She flipped through the pages and he glimpsed pencil drawings of flowers, trees, grass swaying in the wind, clouds chasing each other across the sky, a log cabin by a stretch of dirt road. A man with laugh lines, a woman with a weather-worn face and bright smiling eyes. A chubby baby sitting at a table with food on his head. A small boy chasing a puppy who was chasing a butterfly. She stopped at this page, selected a pencil, and began to finish a few lines.

“Who is that?” he found himself asking.

She looked up at him, searched him with those piercing blue eyes. “My brother,” she said finally.

“Little brother?”

“Yeah.”

She shaded a small portion of the boy’s face, and put it aside with a sigh. “So. Where’d you come from?”

“Twelve,” he said.

She made a noncommittal noise and leaned back against the wall. “Seven, you probably guessed. What’s your name, Stranger?”

“Gale,” he said. “Gale Hawthorne.”

She peered at him, and a queer half smile stole over her. “Well, I’ll be. Gale Hawthorne, the Mockingjay’s man. You looked cleaner on TV.”

And with that, she fell silent.

“Well?” he asked, and she glanced at him sideways, not bothering to move.

“Your name?” he asked. “Aren’t you going to tell me yours?”

She blinked, and then said: “Rhi.”

He stared at her, waiting for a surname, but she gave none.

“Well, _Rhi_ , I’m not the Mockingjay’s man. Not anymore,” he said tersely.

She glanced at him. “Why? War done, all ties gone?”

“Nah,” he muttered. “We were friends for a long time.”

“What happened?” she asked, putting her hands behind her head and cocked an eyebrow. “The blonde kid? Pita, was it?”

“Peeta,” he corrected, roiling inside. _It would be simpler if he were easier to hate._

“Right.”

Gale had a feeling that Rhi knew that wasn’t all; but she didn’t press the matter. She picked up her sketchpad and began drawing an oval.

“She thinks I killed her little sister,” he said finally. Rhi looked at him.

“While I was in Thirteen, I…I had an idea about a bomb,” he said softly, staring at his hands. “One that would go off twice. Once to kill people. Twice to kill the people who came to help the victims of the first wave.”

“And that’s what killed her sister?”

“Yeah.”

Gale was silent for a long while afterward. Rhi kept glancing at him, and then went back to her drawing. The light began to grow orange, and then slant. As the last light of day was fading away, Rhi stretched, yawned, and passed him the sketchbook. “Whadda ya think, eh?”

He looked at it, frowning. For a split second he didn’t recognize the person there. He looked more drawn. Scruffier, he hadn’t shaved in days. His hair was a mess, and his clothes were wrinkled. “It’s me.”

“Sure it is,” she said, and he passed it back to her.

“I almost didn’t recognize myself,” he admitted, and she chuckled.

“Yeah. You’re in bad need a shower, for one,” she said, putting her sketchpad away in her case and shutting it. “And sometimes war changes ya. It’s a bit of a given, actually.”

He looked at her, and she turned to him. “Tell me. What’re you leaving home for, Smelly?”

He cocked an eyebrow, and quickly grew somber. “Well…she can’t even look at me anymore. Home’s…home’s not what it used to be.” He looked aside. “Everything’s gone, or changed. I couldn’t deal with all the memories.”

The scars on his back singed. “I got a job offer in Two. They’re putting me up, and everything. I couldn’t say no. It was my ticket out.”

Rhi made no verbal reply to his answer.

“Well,” he looked at her. “Your turn. Why are _you_ leaving home, Blue Eyes?”

She gave him a sweet quizzical look, and took a deep breath. “Well. I didn’t have a _bad_ life. It’s just…the Capitol used to decide everything, y’know? When we were liberated, well…my parents don’t know squat except how to chop wood, split it, pile it into carts…”

She became silent for a while, and then she murmured: “It wasn’t too late for _me_ , though. I can draw. I’ve been drawing since I knew how to hold a pencil. Paper comes from wood, and that’s all we’ve got in Seven. Lumber. So I decided to go to Two. They’re a military district, but I hear fancy people like to hang paintings in their penthouses. You getting a penthouse, Smelly?”

He stared, and shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe. Whatever they put me in…tell you what, though, I’ll hang one of your paintings in my house.”

“Really?”

“And truly. Promise.”

“Shake on it?”

He shook her hand, grinning.

From there the two fell silent as night cascaded in around them like a waterfall. Eventually, Rhi nodded off, and Gale didn’t know if it was by the course of the rocking train or by her own conscious effort that her head ended up on his shoulder.

Either way, he didn’t mind.

He woke suddenly in the early hours of dawn. He blinked drearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Rhi was lying across the seats, and he stretched his cramped muscles, and sighed. A peek out the window yielded approaching lights. Even at this hour, Two was up and running.

“Rhi,” he prodded her.

“No, Cailin,” she mumbled. “Later.”

“Rhi,” he poked her again, and she sat up slowly, wincing and cracking her back. “We’re almost there.”

Gripping onto the rail he stood and handed her knapsack down to her. Rhi reached into it and pulled on a tanned leather jacket, yawning and blinking sleep out of her weary blue eyes. He grabbed his own bag and sat down. They exchanged no words, and soon the conductor’s voice over the speakers informed them that they had reached their destination.

The train jerked to a stop. They rose slowly.

The doors creaked open, and hesitantly they stepped out.

They were met head-on by _noise._ Cars were screeching around the streets, people on the sidewalks were striding everywhere as fast as they could go. Blaring lights in every building, windows glowing with already-functioning workstations.

Gale and Rhi watched with wide eyes; two blue and two grey. Slowly, one trembling, pale hand found another one; darker. The two shared one glance before descending into the city, together.


	2. Understanding

“Stop moving, Smelly, I can’t get your nose right.”

Gale smiled, turning to peer at Rhi as she erased intently at her paper. There was a smudge of eraser dust on her nose. She had a habit of tapping it with the eraser when she was poring over her rough sketch, so he could always tell when she’d been drawing.

“Is Smelly really an appropriate name anymore?” he questioned, quirking his eyebrow. “I’ve been clean for the past few weeks.”

“And your cologne is smelly enough. A dab’s enough, in case no one ever told you.”

Gale suppressed a grin, rolling his eyes and watching out his window again. His apartment overlooked the park and the manmade lake. It was a good view, especially for the cool sort of fall evenings where he could perch on the sill in jeans and a white tank, tonic and lime in hand, observing the many quirks and personae of his housemate.

“You’re really adorable with the smudge on your nose,” he said. She lifted her eyes to peer at him.

“Mr. Hawthorne, stop turning your head,” she said, dangerously. “Just hold that a moment. I think I have it this time.”

Gale stared at her from the corner of his eye as she sketched intently. _This is hopeless. She’s even more oblivious than-_

“ _There_ it is,” she might have exploded. “I finally have it.”

“Can I move now?”

“Yes, Smelly, you can move.”

He really honestly did grin this time, and shifted, staring back out over the park. He turned to Rhi, and watched her erasing an unwanted guideline. The smudge on her nose was dark against her freckles. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip as she worked.

“Come out here,” he said suddenly. “Join me on my sill, won’t you?”

She peered at him. “No thanks. I think I’ll stay in here.”

Gale sighed, dejected.

Rhi, by some silent agreement, had settled in Gale’s apartment. It _was_ a penthouse, he had the extra room and the extra bathroom. She didn’t take up much space…in fact, she had such a low profile in his home that he got the distinct impression that she was prepared to pack up and go in ten seconds flat.

“Well, at least scoot a bit closer?” he asked. “Come on, it’s nice out. I thought you liked the outdoors.”

“I _do_ ,” she rolled her eyes. “But I grew up in…in _real_ woods, Smelly, not this so-called park they have going here. I’ll stay over here.”

Blowing a soft sigh that stirred his hair, unkempt after the day, he watched a couple walk their dogs below before he turned back. “Why’d you leave?”

Rhi looked up at him, then she frowned. “I told you, Smelly. Didn’t I? That was one of the first things you asked me.”

“But you miss home,” he said pointedly. “I know you do. I can tell.”

“You miss Twelve,” she said dismissively.

“No, I don’t.”

She raised her eyes.

“I don’t miss Twelve,” he repeated, slouching against the window and looking out at the park again.

Rhi watched him for a moment, and then she set down her sketchbook on the chair, moving out to sit across from him on the sill. “Why did _you_ leave, then?”

“I already told you.”

“I’d already told _you_ , and it didn’t stop you from asking.” She tucked her knees up and hugged them to her chest. “You’re not the only one with a past you don’t like to talk about, Smelly.”

Gale fixed his eyes on her that time, curious. “What happened?”

She fiddled with the cuff of her sweater sleeve before answering. “The Seventieth Games. I was fifteen. My name was in there four times. I never thought I’d get picked but…”

“They pulled your name.”

The memories seemed to put her in great pain. Her teeth worried at her lower lip and her brow furrowed. “My friend Dea volunteered for me. When I went to say goodbye she told me not to worry. She’d always been the best with the axe. I told her I would draw a picture of what she looked like when she won, so she could see her face when she came back.”

Rhi was silent for a long while, before she could go on. “She died in the bloodbath. She was reaching for an axe when someone broke her neck.”

Another long pause. “He just…he just reached and grabbed her head…and twisted it. All the way around. She was lying on her stomach but her head was facing up.”

Gale was quiet too. Her eyes were wide, and she just wouldn’t _blink_. “What did she look like?”

Rhi didn’t answer him. “I…I keep trying to draw her and I…I can’t. I just can’t.”

The sun was setting beneath the trees when he broke the silence. “Someone…a friend of Katniss…they stopped me. At the station in Twelve. When I was leaving.”

Rhi raised her head, fixed him with her bright blue eyes. Gale sighed. “They were a bit off-put when they realized I was going. We’d had the falling-out over the bombs and we were both caught up in our own beliefs over the whole thing. Anyway, I…I’d heard she was getting married.”

“To who? Pita Bread?” Rhi questioned, and Gale couldn’t help a halfhearted smile. “Yeah. I figured it was as good a time to go as any.”

“And they stopped you?”

“They wanted to know why I would abandon her.”

At that, Rhi scowled. “War.” She shook her head, and then looked to the side, thunder roiling in her eyes. “It makes corpses of us all. And you think you’ve won, and then…you lose your best friend, not to a bullet or a bomb, but just…that.” Her shoulders sagged, her face hidden from him. “And it feels stupid and petty and childish after everything. It’s bull. But…” she sighed. “Is what it is.”

She got up suddenly, going and stuffing her pencils and sketchpad into her small bag. “You can’t keep wondering about it, you…damn it, I highly doubt you were plotting to personally kill her sister. So just…you’re gone now. You’re _far_ away. Let her hate you for it, not like you’ve got to deal with it. And just…I don’t know, forget about it.”

Gale watched her until the rant had ended, and then she sighed. “Sorry. I guess that was going to happen sooner or later.”

Gale shrugged. “It’s fine. I…I guess we understand each other better than we thought.”

Rhi smiled wryly, picking her bag up. “Yeah. Common hatred of a way of life.” She started for the door. “I think I’m turning in, Smelly.”

“Do me a favor,” he called after her. She turned back to him, standing in the doorway. “Would you mind unpacking? Like you’re actually going to stay for a while?”

She seemed startled. “I…okay. I guess.”

Rhi stood there a minute more, before he shrugged at her and turned back to the window. “That’s it.”

“It is? Oh. Right. I mean…it is. Got it.”

“Good.”

“Right…” she began to inch out of the door and into the hallway, tugging the door shut behind her. “Goodnight, Gale.”

He smiled and watched the stars come out.


	3. Kiss

“Have you ever kissed someone?”

The question came up on a Friday night that found Gale and Rhi sitting on the couch and flipping channels out of boredom. Rhi gave him a curious sideways look, quirking one of her eyebrows. “Have _I_ ever kissed someone?”

“Yeah.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, once, I guess. I kissed a boy from the same street as me. It was one of those party games. I don’t know if that counts. Does it?”

“Do you think it does?” he questioned.

She thought for a moment, twisting her lip, and then shook her head. “No, not really. I barely knew the guy, and he wasn’t really good at it either.”

Gale laughed, and she rolled her eyes again. “Why, was he some kid who still had chubby cheeks? C’mon, you can tell me.”

“He wasn’t _bad_ -looking,” she said defensively. “He had just obviously not kissed a girl before.”

“Was he sloppy?”

“He pressed too hard and he tried to grab my arms and haul me in like I was a mule. It wasn’t sloppy until he tried to use his tongue, and…why are you asking me about the boy I kissed? I thought I said it didn’t count.”

His eyes were laughing, and she felt a furious heat tingeing her cheeks. “So,” he put in, “if it didn’t count…you’ve never been kissed.”

Flushing a darker shade of red, Rhi sank back into the couch, crossing her arms. “I suppose I haven’t.”

With a passive “hm” Gale switched channels again, this time landing on a dramatic teen romance show. Rhi made a disgusted noise, and muttered, “Switch it.”

The girl onscreen, looking sweet and innocent in her white blouse and blonde braids, was sitting on a swing dangling from an oak tree in a field of green hills. Rhi gave Gale another sideways look, and said again, “Switch it out, Gale, unless you’ve suddenly developed an interest in the thirteen-year-old-girl demographic.”

Gale didn’t answer, and Rhi blew an exasperated sigh, stirring a lock of her hair as the male lead came into view, lying under the shade of the leaves. The girl got up from her swing and went to lie beside her companion. He pointed up at a cloud and she squinted, trying to see. He told her to look harder and she turned her head sideways to look. The boy took the opportunity to press their lips together, and Rhi made a disdainful noise. “Change the channel, Gale, I mean it.”

“What?” he asked innocently, finally finding the blessed remote and flipping to some old movies channel. “Jealous no one ever did that to you?”

“If someone had tried that on me I would’ve hit him in the back of the skull with an axe,” she spat, hugging her knees to her chest and looking away.

Gale watched her. Then, he turned the TV off. “Rhi? I’m…I’m sorry, I never meant to…”

“It’s fine,” she muttered, though she still refused to look at him. “You’re probably right. I don’t care, though.”

Gale started to reach for her shoulder, but then he fell short and pulled his hand back.

A long uncomfortable silence.

“Have you ever kissed someone?” she asked, finally.

He had. More girls than he could count, behind the slag heap, in the halls; beyond the fence…he pushed that one away. Oddly, though, he didn’t want to tell her that. “A…a few times,” he said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He worried that it showed when he shifted in his seat, but Rhi didn’t move.

“Rhi…I’m really not making fun of you.”

Finally she looked at him, squinting. He flushed, looked away. “Okay, so I…I was. But I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“It’s okay,” she said again, with a halfhearted smile. “I guess I’ve never been kissed…because I intimidate guys.” She looked so sad then that Gale put his arm around her. She leaned against his shoulder.

“You don’t intimidate me,” he assured her.

“I guess I’m playing catch-up, huh?” she said, drily. “No girl seems fierce after the Mockingjay…”

Suddenly, Gale was holding her out at harm’s length, his face like a mask of iron. “Don’t ever compare yourself to her, Rhi. You _are_ fierce, but in your own way.” _A better way,_ he’d almost said. “No one can take from you what’s only yours.”

Rhi stared at him. “Are you trying to teach me life lessons?”

He sighed, slumped back against the couch. “Maybe.”

For a long moment, they both stared at the blank TV screen, as if it would turn on by itself and give them all the answers. Of course, it didn’t, and they were left to figure it out themselves.

“Rhi,” Gale said after a while, and she lifted her head to look at him. “That boy you kissed…even if it didn’t count…who was he?”

“I never learned his name until he got drawn for the Seventy-Fourth Games.” Rhi gave a little sigh. “He died at the bloodbath, you know. I wonder if he ever had the chance to kiss another girl before that.”

Gale watched the blank screen. Waited.

“Gale…” she murmured. “Everyone…everywhere I go…it’s happy. They’re trying to spread joy. I should be happy, right? I mean…the war’s over, the Capitol’s been brought down…but…all I can think of is what we lost. What it took, what the price was to pay for all of this.”

Gale looked slowly to her. Dark circles were a near-violet under her eyes, dull like a murky pond. Maybe…just maybe there was some way he could clear it up?

He stroked a thumb under her eye, felt moisture gathering there. “Rhiannon,” he murmured, using her full name. She looked up at him, confused, wondering.

Gale kissed her.

Not on the forehead, the cheeks, not even on the tip of her nose. He kissed her full on the lips, and after another moment she had wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close to her, like she was afraid he was going somewhere. She was warm, soft, full and whole and beautiful. It was like a puzzle piece clicking into place to finish a picture. She clutched him tightly, her fingers twisting into his hair.

“Rhi,” he told her when the kiss broke, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He thought she might kiss him again, but she just stayed close, instead. So he held her, and that was enough.


	4. Alcohol

His skin smelled like oranges when her nose was buried in his neck, but it was like salt and smoke when she ran her tongue over a sensitive patch of skin just under his jaw, and he let her know it, huffing sharply and his fingers stuttering at her buttons. She sat back on his hips and undid the last few herself, much more efficiently than he’d been doing and stretched out over him again, her thigh working between his legs and making his breath catch.

“You’re so loud,” she giggled, the spirits making her dizzy and lightheaded. Some part of her knew she’d drank far too much, but there was little in Rhi that could care, especially when Gale was pressed so close to her, beautiful and half-naked and _wanting_.

“I’ll make you loud,” he growled, tossing her over and pinning her on the coverlet before she could try to scramble away. Her lounge pants came off easy with just a tug, and her briefs followed to the floor, and then all of a sudden he slowed down and took his time, licking wide wet stripes across her belly. Rhi’s breath hitched and she pushed his head down. “Gale. _Gale_ , you asshole. Dammit.”

He looked up at her, teasing, before he burrowed down further along the king-size mattress (really, her shots-addled brain mused, how did he sleep in this monstrosity?) and licked a long, wet stroke against her center, making her quiver and sink into the pillows, curling her fingers into his hair. “Oh, fuck.” She could feel him grin against her, stubble scratching and teeth grazing. “Gale. _Mm_. Yes. Ah, ah fuck.”

“ _You’re_ loud,” he slurred, disengaging with an obscene wet smack and slowly pushing a finger into her, watching as her back pushed up and she moaned out his name in a loud litany.

He grinned again, lowered his head and teased at her lightly, flickering with the tip of his tongue until her profanities grew into high desperate whines and she was yanking on his hair so hard his scalp stung, and finally he lowered his head and sucked on her clit until she came apart under him with a broken curse and a string of rapid gasps.

“You’re really pretty when you come,” he mumbled, giving her a goofy look that could most likely be attributed to the large quantities of tequila they’d both thrown back at a somewhat-alarming pace. Neither could truly remember why they’d done so, though Rhi thought she recalled some sort of happy thing that had called for celebration, but her mind was just now beginning to come back to its woozy pieces in the aftermath of the explosive climax he’d brought her to with his fucking amazing tongue.

Her fingers stroked lightly through his hair to apologize for pulling so hard, and he crawled up the pillowy comforter and braced himself over her, having wriggled out of his boxers and sweats. Gale kissed next to her ear and asked in a voice shuddery with desire, “You’ve done this before…right?”

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, nodded her head, lifted her leg and hooked it over one of his hips.

He braced his palm over her ankle and focused on moving inside of her (which took a bit of concentration in his current state), and groaned deeply as soon as they connected.

Furrowing his brow in concentration, he focused on trying to make the whole thing last more than ten seconds, but it was a bit of a doomed effort from the start, and maybe half a minute after he had entered her he slid a hand over her breast and screwed his eyes shut tight as he came, groaning deeply, slumping slowly down over her and letting her palms slide over the planes of his back.

The next morning, he woke up with his head pounding. Rhi stirred on his chest, looked at him and slowly moved away.

They spoke little for the next few days, which Rhi spent mostly locked up in her room. Gale figured eventually the whole thing would blow over. After all, they had been very drunk and out of their heads, and soon it could all get back to normal.

He thought that, of course, assuming he would be lucky, and of course, he had never been lucky. Those odds had never exactly been in his favor, even if he never _had_ been reaped.

It was one morning he shuffled into the bathroom, picked up his toothbrush, and realized she was sitting on the edge of the tub. He turned, looked down at her. “Hey. Morning.”

Rhi didn’t reply, except for a small shake of the head, something clutched in her fingers. Gale knelt down. “Rhi, what’s wro…oh. Oh.”

The stick was blue.


	5. Promise

The first time she had felt him stirring inside of her a _something_ had seized her and swept her away. She recognized it as love, fierce protective love like the mother wolves that snarled in the woods of Seven.

She’d considered going back. Several times. Her mother had been insisting on it ever since she’d made the phone call to tell her family about the baby and ended up breaking down crying. But she’d come to Two for a reason, and she wasn’t going to go just be _cause_ of a baby. If she needed to leave Gale’s flat she would. She’d go and get a job and be on her own if she had to.

That said, she didn’t have to. Gale had said quietly after a month of almost-silence that she was welcome to stay. Rhi had wanted to ask him in that moment if she was allowed to tell the baby who its father was, but she’d held back. For a few weeks things were almost normal with them, but once she started to show it was awkward and horrible and tense again, and she would cry in her room, because she always had to cry, but she didn’t expect him to comfort her. Would it even have happened without the alcohol? Probably not.

Her labor pains started just after dinner one night in the fall, and in the wee hours of the morning her- _their_ \- son burst forth into the world, dark-haired and rosy-skinned and squalling. She called him Callum, after her grandfather.

At least she knew how to be a mother. Rhi didn’t know how to fix the mess with Gale- she didn’t even know if it _could_ be fixed- but she was able to hold the child and change him, feed him, sing to him when he woke up colicky and cried late into the night. She would always apologize to Gale the next morning but he always told her never to worry about it.

There were rare moments- very few and far between- when she might lay Callum down on the couch and surround him in pillows to prevent his fall, before hurrying off to heat something up for herself. Sometimes she might turn and see him sitting there, on the cushion beside the baby, looking thoughtfully down and then lightly stroking his thumb over Callum’s little forehead, shadowed in dark curls like his own. She never liked to interrupt those moments, because she could never be sure how much more he would get from his father.

On one particularly bad night, where Callum was wailing so hideously she worried he had some sort of painful infection, she was awake pacing the floor with him, bouncing gently and singing all the songs she knew thrice over to try and quiet him.

At three AM he finally got off to sleep. Rhi laid him down in his crib, sighed, and crept off to go get something for her headache.

She ran into Gale in the hallway, groggy and looking as wrecked as she felt, feet pointed like he had been going for her room. “Is he okay?” he asked softly, and she couldn’t tell if her pounding head had conjured the concern in his voice or if it was genuinely there. “Yeah. Yeah. He’s fine. Just got off to sleep.”

She shuffled into the bathroom and popped a few pain meds before stifling a yawn and shambling back to her room, still hearing blessed silence from the baby’s crib.

When Rhi entered, Gale was sitting on the edge of the bed, bent over and staring down into the crib, blinking rarely, just watching Callum as he lay on his back, snuffling softly in his light slumber.

Rhi covered another yawn, moved a little closer. He looked up this time, slowly scooted onto the very corner of the mattress and looking like he was about to stand, and leave them be.

She shook her head at him and took a seat beside him, folding her hands and quietly looking at her- _their_ \- son in quiet reflection.

“Did it hurt?” he asked, finally, his voice barely even a whisper. She nodded slowly. It’s the first time they’ve ever talked about Callum…at all, really. “Yeah. It did.”

Gale didn’t really know what to say then. “…I’m sorry.”

Rhi shrugged. “I love him. He’s my son. I’m not sorry.”

Gale took a long time to answer. When he finally did speak, he sounded choked up. “He’s my son too.”

Rhi looked slowly at him, and carefully, afraid of spooking him, slid her hand up over his. “He is.”

“I…” he shook his head. “Haven’t been a good father. I…really care for you, Rhi, it’s just…all this…happened, and I wasn’t sure what it was, and then we got drunk and…I’m sorry. I was trying to figure out what the something was and I shut myself off from you.” He looked down into the crib. “And him.” He was silent for a while. “I won’t do it again, though. I’m going to be here for you, here for him.” His hand tightened on hers. “We can get married…”

“We don’t have to rush this,” murmured Rhi, squeezing his hand. “We don’t need rings to be a family, Gale. That’s one of the perks of Two.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then, a smile. “Yeah. Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right, Smelly,” she joked, suddenly recalling those old days, laughing softly and leaning on his shoulder. “Not such a fitting name for you, anymore. That’s what I call him.” She nodded down at the crib, gave a soft sigh. “He’s my little stinker. Even looks like you.”

“He has your eyes, though.”

“He makes faces like you.”

“I don’t make faces.”

“Yes you are. See? You’re making one right now.” She was unable to fight back her grin. “You should see yourself. Yeah, that’s the face you make.”

“What about this one?” he muffles, through pursed lips, and he swallows her giggles in a kiss, perhaps the first one they’ve shared (sober, anyways- besides that one time when they’d been talking about kissing, but she was still wondering if that one counted either). Rhi sighed softly and wrapped her arms around him, let him nibble on her lower lip and trace fingertips over her back.

That was when Callum woke. Suddenly, too, crying suddenly and flailing little fists onto the mattress. He began to whimper and Rhi sighed, pulling free of the kiss and sliding her feet down to the floor and bending to pick him up.

Gale rose quicker and took Callum up into his arms, thick and corded with muscle and scars, but so undeniably gentle with this precious life. “You lay down for a while,” he told her, nodding at the bed, and Rhi’s in no mood to argue, just crawls under the blankets and watches him rock the baby until she drifts off.

In the morning she found him sitting on the couch, head lolling back and arms still wrapped around little Callum. The baby’s dark head was tucked away on his shoulder, sported the same dark curls, and both were (finally) snoozing contentedly.

Rhi decided not to disturb them- her Hawthorne boys needed their rest, after all- and went into the kitchen to brew tea.

The smell had a tendency to wake both of them up, but then again, Gale liked to say he wasn’t a disagreeable fellow. He went to work every day, came home every night, and he’d promised to be a father to his son and a loving mate to her.

So far, he hasn’t broken a promise.

**_fin_ **


End file.
